


Fear the Reaper

by NimueApDumnonia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Humor, Auror Harry Potter, Case Fic, Coming Out, Curse Breaker Draco Malfoy, Dark Magic, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Smut, Forced Cohabitation, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Magical Artifacts, Oblivious Harry, Obscure Legends, Pets, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Slow Burn, The Deathly Hallows, i guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:07:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27660455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NimueApDumnonia/pseuds/NimueApDumnonia
Summary: Crazy stalkers in London? Weird as fuck magic? Murder attempts? Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are involved, naturally.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 7
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter One

Chapter one.

Harry and Draco, sticking to true form, would never agree on how the whole thing had started. Harry insisted vehemently that it began in a dark stormy night, with his heart breaking.

That particular night witnessed one of the biggest arguments Harry had ever had in his life, which was really saying something if you consider who we’re talking about. 

Ginny and Harry were yelling terrible things at each other, their relationship finally crumbling to the ground seven exhausting years after the war. On that evening in the middle of October, the weather was raging with rain and wind all over London, and in Grimmauld Place, the walls were shaking with magic and hurt.

“We are not the _Potters_! I won’t reenact this horrible play with you, Harry! The red-headed girl and the messy-haired boy-!”

“How _dare_ you!”

“When was the last time you stood by my side and felt happy?”

“When was the last time you _stood by my side_?”

“ _I don’t love you anymore_.”

Harry had eventually walked out of the house in a furious haze, lest he blew the whole thing up by mistake. Their words were ringing in his ears, and his chest was a tight ball of pain and anger. He was wet and chilled to the bone in a matter of seconds, but actually rejoiced in the unrelenting downpour beating his skin. He strode blindly in the dark, not caring about anything anymore. 

Now. Draco would forever reject this order of events. In his (always correct, mind you) opinion, it had all started with that blasted dog.

The creature showed up in his yard one afternoon, out of nowhere, looking mournful and quite pathetic with his knotted, filthy fur and big sad eyes. It sat very still, strategically positioned so that Draco would spot him out the window every time he went into his kitchen. 

Draco Malfoy was decidedly _not_ an animal person. He held no regard for beasts, excluding maybe his owl. And even that only on the days the bird didn’t try to bite his fingers. His past was sprinkled with unpleasant events involving the animal kingdom, be they hippogriffs, giant snakes, or peacocks. He had no reason to believe canines were any less worrisome. So, he resisted the small urge to engage the dirty dog camping out on his property and squashed any thoughts of – Merlin forbid – feeding it.

He went about his life in the tiny house he had bought in London a couple of years ago. He went about his job as a curse breaker and a consultant for the Ministry of Magic. He didn’t worry about any dogs.

At least not for the first few days. Banging dishes around quite loudly one morning, Draco bared his teeth at the window, very annoyed. The creature was still there. In the exact same place. Didn’t it need water? Food? Reason stood that it had to go and procure those at some point. But no, the dog remained there like an enormous, drooling, _ugly_ gnome stuck next to Draco’s peonies. 

He glared at the dog all through his tea. Grumbled to himself while eating his toast. And finally opened the backdoor:

“Fine!” he yelled at the dog, motioning with his hand towards the entrance. And the dog came bounding happily in his direction as if that had been his idea all along. Draco had a gnawing suspicion it was.

Next came all the joys of looking after a living being. Draco waged war against the stubborn fur, washed the dog until his fingers were pruning, and had a rather disquieting meeting with fleas. He called for reinforcements. Pansy Parkinson and Astoria Greengrass appeared in his house soon afterwards, carrying books, dog food, and mockery.

It was established, after a mix of spells and research in muggle books, that the dog was a Bernese Mountain. He was large, and when cleaned up, showed a beautiful black coat, with a white chest and specks on brown here and there. It had no magical abilities, other than apparently being invulnerable to thirst, and had a gentle disposition. He appeared content to be sprawling on the floor of Draco’s study while the wizard performed complicated spells over cursed objects.

It also chewed Draco’s dragonhide boots whenever it had a chance, and then proceeded to barf the remains of said footwear into one of the irreplaceable vases that adorned the hallway. Malfoys weren’t supposed to shout, his father had always said. Shouting was for commoners. Draco found that he shouted quite a lot that week.

Which brings us back to that October evening. Draco had fallen into the habit of leaving the backdoor open. The dog would take a stroll around the neighbourhood, do his business somewhere far away from Malfoy’s sensibilities, and come back when it wanted to. Except for that night it didn’t. The world seemed to be trying to rain itself to an end, and it was bloody _cold_. At 8 o’clock, Draco gave up all pretence of his indifference and went in search of the vexing animal.

While Draco was disparaging himself over his stupid, _stupid_ idea of looking for a mostly black dog _in the dark_ , Harry was stumbling in and out of alleyways at random, still seething. He had half a mind to go back to Grimmauld place and start the fight all over again when he first glimpsed the hooded shadow standing to his right. Harry turned around, heart racing for totally different reasons now, and pointed his wand to a particularly unlit corner. There was nothing there. He frowned, instincts starting to buzz in his stomach.

Taking the executive decision of letting the situation play itself out, and not call in reinforcements, Harry continued walking along the narrow, claustrophobic streets. He was an Auror, damnit, and far too old to be afraid of the dark. A few minutes later the figure appeared again, this time a little bit to his left. Through the corner of his eye, Harry could just make out the dark cloak that seemed to absorb what little light the streetlamps provided. He tried to face the threat, turning once more and was again greeted by empty space. 

Harry kept forward in a dark mood, wand tight in his fist, lips in a thin line. Dementors? It didn’t feel like it. A dark wizard? But what would a dark wizard be doing in muggle London? Attention still mostly on whoever was behind him, Harry actually forgot to look where he was going.

“Ow!” came a loud yelp, and Harry fell to the ground in a heap of twisted limbs. Startled, he let out a shock of red sparks from his wand, and whoever was entangled with him released another cry.

“Fuck! Stop it, what the-” 

“Why are you following me?”

“Following what- wait-”

“ _Malfoy_?” Harry gaped when the person twisting next to him at last managed to sit up. 

“Potter.” Draco sneered. He rolled his eyes. “Of course.”

“What the hell are you doing Malfoy, following me like this?” Harry growled while both of them stood up. Draco sent him a look full of indignation.

“I was most certainly _not_!” he exclaimed, sounding thoroughly outraged. 

“I saw you!” Harry persisted, grabbing Draco’s arm, and shaking him. “Walking after me like a bloody lunatic wearing that stupid cape and…”

He trailed off, taking in for the first time Draco’s white sweater hanging wetly from his skinny frame. Looking up, he found angry grey eyes flashing dangerously.

“Oh.” He stammered, uncertain. 

“Yes, _oh_. Unhand me, Potter!” Draco hissed, shaking his arm loose. 

“I’m… Sorry, I thought I saw something.” Harry shifted, gazing at the dim street. Their only companions were the biting gusts of air and the rubble tumbling around on the ground. The rain was still falling, making it hard to distinguish a lot of sounds.

“Like you can see at all with those hideous glasses.” Draco snapped, voice raised enough to be heard above the rainstorm, and pointed his wand at Harry’s face. “ _Impervious_.”

“I could have done that!” Harry said, irritated, even as his sight improved tremendously now that his lenses weren’t fogged up or half blocked by little rivers of water. Draco scoffed derisively.

“Clearly not.”

“Whatever Malfoy, as if you never-” Harry started, feeling very inclined to begin another row, when Draco’s hand closed around his wrist.

“What was that?” he asked, looking at the end of the alley. Harry followed his gaze, suddenly alert.

“I told you, someone’s following me,” he said, seizing the fabric of Draco’s sweater with his left hand as he started to back up. 

“The cloaked person,” Draco stated, still looking straight ahead despite Harry’s tugging, eyes wide. Harry made a non-committing sound.

“Dementor?” Draco asked.

“I don’t think so.”

Harry half froze when a grim shape materialized not a hundred meters away, blocking one side of the backstreet. He was huge and emanated cold menace even with his face completely hidden under the hood. Harry watched spellbound as a ghostly pale hand slowly reached behind the cloak. The streetlamp next to the alley entrance flickered and went out. Harry snapped out of his trance.

“ _Run_!” he exclaimed, but Malfoy was already turning, shoes slipping on the wet stones of the street in his rush to get away.

“What the buggering fuck is that Potter?” he yelled, whipping his head around to see if they were being chased. They were. “ _Shite_.” 

“I don’t know! _Stupefy_!” Not even a stumble. “I’ll _Apparate_ us in the next turn!” Draco nodded, and they ran faster, desperate to get to the other end of the narrow passage. Harry reached out his hand and Draco took it, letting himself be side-alonged.

They popped on the other side smoothly, with no apparent splinching issues.

“Is he gone?” Draco gasped, hands on his knees. They were in some other part of London, on a broad street full of warehouses. Harry was frantically looking in all directions.

“I think…” he started and then inhaled sharply. Draco straightened up and stared ahead. “ _No_.”

Whoever or whatever the thing was, it was still marching purposely in their direction, ever closer. Harry and Draco moved back as one, shoulders touching.

“ _Stupefy_!”

“ _Confringo_!”

“ _Reducto_!”

“What _is_ this thing? _Incarcerous_!”

Nothing would make a difference. The creature stalking them seemed immune to all magic. Draco could feel the panic tightening his throat, making his voice hoarse as he showered their enemy with every curse, hex, and spell he could think off.

“Malfoy, _go_! He’s after me, not you. Just go and get help.”

“Up yours, Potter! I’m not going to Azkaban for not protecting the Saviour. _Bombarda_!”

“Now is not the time- Fuck! _Impedimenta_! Malfoy, go!”

“Shut up, Potter!” In a bout of madness that he would never be able to fully explain afterwards, Draco stepped in front of Harry and raised his wand one last time. “ _Avada Kedavra_!”

He was dimly aware of Potter’s weak protests. Draco watched the jet of green light dash towards the dark form. It was as if the world had been shrouded in silence for a few seconds. No wind, no rain, no laboured breathing coming from Harry or himself. A white flash exploded, making them squint and put their hands up. And then it was over, Harry and Draco just two wizards standing in an empty street in the middle of a dwindling thunderstorm.

“What-” Harry gasped, horrified. “Malfoy, _what the fuck_.” He staggered forward to where they last saw… whatever it was that they saw. Smooth cobbled stone and water were all that remained. 

“Huh,” Draco grunted, pretending nonchalance that he was far from feeling. “Did it work then?”

“Did you kill somebody, do you mean?” Harry gritted out, still glaring at the same spot on the ground as if it would spill some answers if only Harry conjured up enough indignation.

“Right. I should feel sympathy for my assaulter. I apologize if my heart is not quite that _pure_.” Harry glowered at Draco, but the other man just crossed his arms stubbornly. Now that Draco wasn’t focused on his impending demise, the cold was really getting to him.

“You are unbelievable,” Harry muttered and then spread his arms out in frustration. “I don’t get it, where did he go?”

“You’re asking _me_? You’re the Auror!”

“You’re the curse breaker!”

“Yes, well.” Draco exhaled tiredly, trying to think. What a fucking night. “If that thing was a person, then the white flash makes no sense. But he shouldn’t be dead. Maybe… Banished? If it was some other creature…” Draco shrugged. “Who knows.”

“So, in short, you don’t know what the hell you did. As usual.” Draco bristled at that.

“What I do know Potter, is that no _body_ means no _crime_.” he drawled. “Don’t they teach that in your hero school for the befuddled?”

“I ought to arrest you anyway.” Draco extended his wrists in Harry’s direction, one blond eyebrow raised in defiance.

“Go ahead.”

Harry huffed, disgruntled, and cast some diagnostic spells. There wasn’t even a trace of dark magic around them. After _a Killing Curse_ , no signs of dark magic. Harry scratched the back of his neck, scanning the empty street one last time. Nothing about the whole situation made any sense. Plus, Malfoy was right, the git. He had no evidence, no body, no way to even make sure that somebody had been after them in the first place. He could charge Malfoy with the use of an Unforgivable, but that seemed petty at this point. The man _had_ jumped in front of Harry just to protect him, not even five minutes ago.

“I _will_ file a report about this,” he stated when the silence stretched for too long. Draco shrugged again. He was looking around too. The rain was really just a gentle drizzle by now, surprisingly enough. The freezing quality of the air, however, was still very much present.

“I won’t say you used an Unforgivable.” Harry continued, grudgingly. He was shivering lightly too, Draco was pleased to notice.

“Very kind of you, Potter. I give you my everlasting gratitude, of course.” Draco stated carelessly, sounding every bit the pureblood idiot Harry knew and disliked.

“Prat.” He grumbled to himself before marching off into the night, leaving Draco to stand alone under the elements. Which he did, because this whole business with Harry seemed so surreal that he needed a moment - or five - to put his thoughts in order.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when something heavy bumped against his leg. Draco spun around quickly, only to find his daft dog staring back at him. He looked as soggy and miserable as Draco felt, and was covered in mud. Draco sighed. 

“Fuck my life.”

***

Harry did file a report. Ron snorted loudly at Harry’s description of being pursued by a large, hooded man in the middle of the night.

“Are you sure it wasn’t a bulky girl trying to get an autograph, mate?” 

A lot of bickering ensued.

Draco was called to give his statement. Yes, they were chased by an unknown subject. _No_ , Draco had no idea who he was, he _had_ just used the term _unknown subject_ , had he not? A pinched-looking secretary had stared down her nose at Draco after that, and Draco had stared right back, his disdain all-encompassing. But Harry kept his promise to not go babbling about Draco’s impulsive use of Killing Curses, so the Malfoy heir felt the need to send him a thank-you note:

_Potter,_

_Thanks for not being an arse._

_It was very surprising, seeing as usually you just can’t help yourself. But I digress._

_I guess thank you for saving the world too, and for giving me back my wand all those years ago. I never did get around to writing you a letter._

_Best regards,_

_DM_

_\----_

_Dear Malfoy,_

_You’re a wanker._

_Your mother sent me a letter after the war. I reckon she never got around to giving you some manners._

_Since you mentioned the war, sorry about that whole ‘trying to kill you’ episode in the sixth year. Although you were in fact being an idiot, as it turned out._

_Best,_

_Your Saviour_

_\----_

_Dear Chosen Tosser,_

_I take back that bit about you not being an arse._

_The ‘episode’ - as you so kindly referred to it - gave me scars, did you know? But I forgive you for marring my pureblood perfection because I grew up. I’m mature now, and all that shite._

_Wishing you ill-luck,_

_Draco_

_P.S.: Can we agree to never speak to each other again forever and ever?_

_\---_

_Dear pointy ponce,_

_Stop thinking about my arse._

_Also, you should be glad the scars are not on your face – you’re ugly enough as it is._

_Ta,_

_Harry_

_P.S.: Deal._

_\---_

They made good on their agreement. For the next two years, Draco and Harry avoided each other with unrelenting commitment, going as far as faking illnesses and hiding in dusty storerooms just to not say hello on the Ministry’s corridors. 

Life went on. Ginny moved out of Grimmauld Place. Harry went on a cleaning and redecoration rampage, getting rid of all the unpleasant memories he had in that house. Christmas that year was a study in awkward silences. Easter actually had Ginny pelting chocolates at Harry, and Harry getting so mad that he had his first case of accidental magic in years. The situation reached calamitous levels; Molly had to intervene. Ron was grounded, Hermione ranted quite a lot and Percy ended up with blue hair for three days. Nevertheless, it would still be another six months until Ginny and Harry could stand to be in the same room without further catastrophe.

During the first few weeks after the _incident_ , Harry paid extra attention to his surroundings, expecting his assailant to be back. He even poked around a bit on some old books he had lying around the house. But nothing came after him, other than the usual garbage, so Harry finally dismissed the whole thing.

Draco, for his part, continued to work. He travelled a bit. Got banned from Spain after his dog peed in an Ambassador’s side table. It was an antique, and the man was very crossed indeed. Draco then figured out, after many lost galleons on boots, that the stupid animal would just as happily chew on potatoes - of all things -, if only Draco supplied him with a big enough stock.

If Harry or Draco thought about each other at all in those two years, it doesn’t bear remarking.

***

A lot of bad things could be said about Draco Malfoy. He knew that. Death Eater scum, spineless coward, snob. Fine. But _crazy_ was not one of them. He agreed he made poor choices in his youth and, to his chagrin, was mostly inclined to worry just about his own problems, the rest of the world be damned. He wasn’t proud of that, but he accepted the assessment. However, all of his selfish actions and judgement lacking conducts were always made with a sound mind. So why the fuck was he seeing things?

It started small. Quick glimpses of something black and shapeless, that nonetheless left Draco anxious. He would see it while walking the dog across the park. Sometimes, shopping on Diagon Alley, a shiver would make him pause and look around. 

These events, as Draco had taken to calling them, started getting more frequent. During field expeditions, he would get the weirdest impression someone was following him. He saw shades everywhere. Discussing the situation with his parents didn’t help. They immediately assumed it was some unhappy war victim, still after revenge against pardoned Death Eaters. Discomfited, Draco finally scheduled an appointment at St. Mungos for the next week. He supposed he had Black blood after all, and Salazar knew his ancestors could be notoriously insane sometimes.

The next night, Draco woke up in a cold sweat, utterly sure he was _not alone in his room_. He held on tightly to his dog through the rest of the early hours, thoroughly spooked, a _Protego_ firmly in place. At last, the sun started to rise, and with the first rays shining into the room, Draco saw the same cloaked figure he had seen with Potter that night, standing right next to the door.

He apparated to Astoria’s house, landing directly on her room. He ignored her shriek of fright and shoved the dog on her bed. Draco barked a quick: “Take care of him!” and didn’t wait for her response before apparating again and storming into the Ministry’s building. It was empty, obviously. But Draco figured it had more barriers and protective wards than his house, and probably more than even Malfoy Manor. Draco ran straight to the Department of Law Enforcement, forgoing the elevators in favour of the stairs. He barged into the Auror Headquarters’ and didn’t even pause at the automated voice informing him of the Office’s working hours. 

“Get Potter.” he wheezed at the baffled rookie on call, who had been quite clearly just taking a nap on a couch in the corner. When the trainee continued to blink at him owlishly, Draco banged his fist on the counter and shouted:

“Potter! Now!”

***

Draco retreated to Potter’s office while waiting. It was impossible to miss, what with the Gryffindor banner stuck proudly on a wall and piles of half-filled paperwork spread around the desk, Potter’s messy scrawl outlining everything. Draco had been pacing for the longest ten minutes – time enough to realize he was still wearing pyjamas. He quickly transfigured his clothes into something presentable. Draco would be damned if he would die wearing striped trousers. It was bad enough that he had them at all. 

He looked up when he heard a noise outside the door and gripped his wand. But it was just Potter. The man strode in a bit out of breath and looked half asleep, half annoyed. Draco felt himself finally relaxing. Even if Potter was wearing ripped jeans and a ratty t-shirt inside out and generally didn’t look exactly fit to fight off anything. 

“Didn’t we agree to never meet again?” Harry asked, running a hand through his hair in a half-hearted attempt to get it into a semblance of order. 

“He’s back,” Draco said, getting straight to the point. Harry tilted his head a bit, giving Draco a curious look that clearly evaluated, if not his mental soundness, at the very least his sober status.

“Voldemort…?” he asked hesitantly.

“ _No_ , Potter, bite your tongue. _Him_. That thing. The hooded rubbish from a few years ago.”

“Oh.” Harry turned and stuck his head out of his office, suggesting emphatically to the other young Auror that he should go for a coffee break. He closed the door, warded it, and asked in a concerned tone:

“Are you sure?”

Draco made a choked sound of despair.

“Oh yes, I’m sure. I just saw him _in my bedroom_ this morning.” Harry rubbed his forehead in a resigned way.

“Well, fuck.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> I had this idea nagging at me for a few days, and decided to give it a go. Feedback would be awesome, as this is a bit different from my usual silliness.  
> Also, I have absolutely no clue what the devil those British guys are using to measure distance now. Yards, miles? So I stuck to my good friend meter. If someone knows the proper terminology, I'd love to learn it.  
> This was not betaed, so I hope no huge mistakes were looked over by me.  
> Happy reading! =D


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter two.

Harry called Ron and Hermione in, ignoring Draco rolling his eyes and muttering something under his breath that sounded remarkably like ‘no self-reliance’. But Harry was fairly sure that tinkering a bit with the Auror’s report forms back then justified asking help from people he knew would never betray his trust. Even if Hermione would be dismayed. Which she was.

“Harry, how could you? Tampering with official forms, you know better than that. It’s the same kind of corruption we’ve been _trying to get rid of_.”

“I didn’t tamper, I omitted!” Harry exclaimed, slightly hurt. “I’m not corrupt.”

“I know you’re not. But still.” Hermione relented, squeezing Harry’s hand. She switched baby Rose from one hip to another. Harry had interrupted her morning feed, and the little girl was none too pleased. Ron was now frantically preparing her another bottle over Harry’s desk while Draco observed, nose slightly wrinkled in distaste. “So, let’s go over this again. You were both being followed by an unknown person wearing a long black cape with a hood.”

She looked sharply at Ron when the man sniggered.

“I’m sorry! It’s just the whole ‘man in the cape’ part. I keep expecting to hear he showed them his bits!” Hermione still looked disapproving, but Harry and Ron shared an amused glance.

“Pervert or not, he was not following us both. He was following _Potter_ , who, as usual, dragged me down in his mess.” Draco drawled from his seat near a fake window. It was showing cloudy, ominous skies that surmised his mood exactly right.

“Excuse me!” Harry protested crossly. “When have I ever dragged you down anywhere?”

“Let’s see. Do you want a list in chronological order? What about first year, when _I_ got detention because _you_ were out of bed?”

“ _You_ were being a nosy bastard, _as usual_ , and got exactly what you deserved.” 

“I was a concerned student,” Draco stated loftily, and all three Gryffindors snorted.

“You were a pain in the arse, mate.” Draco spluttered, apparently appalled at being referred to as Weasley’s _mate_. Ron laughed at him and got up to give Hermione the bottle. But by then the baby had lost her patience and started crying wholeheartedly, refusing milk or comfort.

“Give her to me,” Harry said, extending his arms. The little bundle of rage was passed to him. “Hello, Rosie. I know, we were so mean to you this morning. Old fools, the whole lot of us.” He murmured gently, rocking her, and in a few seconds, the baby was peacefully having her breakfast.

“Traitor,” Ron grumbled at his daughter, making a face. “We get the wailing demon; he gets the sweet angel.”

“Don’t call our daughter a demon.” Hermione admonished, but one corner of her lips went up. She sat down next to Draco. “Back to the point. You ran and tried a variety of spells.”

“We apparated first.” Harry pointed out. He was giving the little girl a besotted smile that thoroughly disgusted Draco. “He followed us.”

“That’s creepy.” Said Ron, still watching his daughter over where Harry was standing. “Although, we trace apparations all the time. Maybe he can do it too.”

“We can trace apparations _sometimes_ , if we are standing right there when it happens and already have the magical signature of the criminal.” Harry corrected, still talking in soothing tones completely at odds with the discussion. “That guy was not that close to us, and how would he have our signatures?”

“ _Your_ signature.” Draco pointed out disagreeably. Harry rolled his eyes but nodded.

“My signature.”

“And the Killing Curse made him disappear,” Hermione murmured, sounding thoughtful. “It makes no sense. Draco, are you sure you cast correctly? It’s not an easy curse to perform.”

Draco looked so affronted at this that Harry snorted loudly.

“He did, ‘Mione. I felt the magic, it was done properly.”

“You _felt_ the magic?” Draco asked incredulously. “One doesn’t just _feel_ the magic in the middle of a duel, Potter!”

The three friends shared a cautious look that had Draco gaping. Harry just shrugged.

“Put it on my weird ‘Chosen One’ nonsense tab.” He suggested, and Draco huffed but didn’t argue.

“Why do you guys reckon he is after Malfoy now?” In response to Ron’s question, Draco waved his arms around rather crazily in Harry’s direction, making a sound of distress that clearly stated Draco held his old school nemesis responsible for all his misfortunes.

“I think you trying to kill him made him angry,” said Ron, nodding his head sagely.

“More importantly, how does he keep finding Draco? And why not just kill him, why the suspense?”

They fell silent, Rosie’s occasional gurgles the only sound in the office.

“Well. It looks like we have some research to do.” Hermione said in a matter-of-fact tone after a while. “In the meantime, Draco needs a safe place to stay. So far wards worked against this mystery person, so at least we have that.”

“We could put him in a safe house.”

“Absolutely not.” was Draco’s instantaneous retort.

“Why not?” asked Harry. “It makes sense!”

“No, it doesn’t Potter. I don’t need to be in a place where all sorts of ministry workers can easily get into. I’m still a Death Eater, and people are _still_ angry, or have you forgotten?” Harry scowled at that, and Draco scowled back.

“Hogwarts?” suggested Ron, breaking up the staring contest.

“Right, because McGonagall will simply relish the thought of putting students in danger.” Hermione scoffed. “Besides, Hogwarts’ wards aren’t really all that great since the war.”

“What about Malfoy Manor?”

“The Manor’s wards are… not broken, precisely, but with all that dark magic… I don’t know.”

“There is…” Hermione started, in a suspiciously uncertain voice.

“No,” said Harry immediately.

“But Harry, it’s perfect! And you have space.”

“No way!”

“The house would probably be more willing to protect him, he’s part Black and all that tosh.” Ron pipped in, and Harry sent him a murderous look.

“ _No_.”

“What, pray tell, are you all talking about?” Draco asked in a clipped tone.

“Grimmauld Place.” sighed Hermione, and Harry’s face took the mulish appearance they were all familiar with.

“No,” he repeated hotly. Ron tugged the baby from his arms, whispering something about ‘no squeezing my offspring to death.’

“You want me to live with Potter?” Draco looked as sickened by this prospect as Harry. “Surely there’s somewhere else in the whole of Britain that I could go to.”

“But here’s the thing, I don’t think there is.” Hermione gave an apologetic look to Harry. “Think about it. The house is Unplottable, under the Fidelius Charm. Blood magic would already shield Draco, to begin with. And Harry, you added a _lot_ of protective wards after you moved in.

“Mate, you even have wards against ghosts!” Ron tried to reason when it looked like Harry might explode right then and there. “ _And_ you could get Draco’s assignments from his department and give them to him. He would never miss work while we sort this out.”

“You have wards against ghosts?” Draco shot Harry a confused look. “ _Why_?”

“Bellatrix,” Harry mumbled darkly, leaning against a wall, arms crossed. Draco’s jaw went slack for a few seconds, and he murmured a soft ‘ _fuck’_ to himself. A sentiment Harry more than agreed with.

“I won’t impose you, Potter. Let’s reconsider the Manor option. Maybe talk to an expert.” Draco said, narrowing his eyes as he contemplated his options. “It can be done, I suppose.”

“Would your father allow strangers messing up with the Manor?”

“Well.” Draco paused, and then shrugged. He sat straighter and tried to look confident in a way that never fooled Harry when they were in school, and most certainly didn’t fool him now. “If it meant my life, of course he would.”

Which, in Harry’s opinion, was code for: Lucius would try to do it himself, and the results were unpredictable. Harry scrubbed his face with both his hands, already exhausted, and gave a loud groan. “Fine," he said, at last, adjusting his crooked glasses. He then fixed Draco with a determined glare.

“I don’t cook, my study is off-limits, and you have to be nice to Kreacher. My elf, Kreacher,” Harry expanded when Draco stared at him blankly. “He’s really old, I don’t want you giving him more work to do.”

“Those conditions are acceptable,” Draco said slowly, rubbing his hand against his left arm. Harry (and probably Hermione too), pretended not to notice this nervous tell. “We would need to go to my house and get some of my things.”

“Sure, but we’ll have to be quick about it. We don’t know how long we have outside until he’s on your trail again.”

“Indeed. Also, I have a dog.”

***

They squabbled all the way to the atrium. Harry’s reaction to the dog news was a hearty laugh and a: “Yeah, good one Malfoy.”, to which Draco had taken great offence. Why couldn’t he have a dog? Was there some sort of law disputing a Malfoy’s right to own a mammal? Harry called him an oversensitive prat, Draco accused him of chronic idiocy and they almost forgot about the time limit hanging over their heads when Draco finally side-alonged Harry to his house. 

“Focus!” Harry snapped when Draco took too long to open his door, being too busy finishing an insult. Draco shot him an annoyed glance but entered the house. 

While Draco charmed various items into a trunk he’d just conjured, odds and ends zapping all around them, Harry took the opportunity to look around curiously. The house was nothing like he would have expected. Far from the lavish coldness he remembered from Malfoy Manor, Draco’s house was all about comfort and soothing colours. It had a nice, lived-in atmosphere to it, and was cosy in a way Harry himself had never quite managed to reproduce at Grimmauld. 

“Draco? Is that you?” came a melodic voice from the kitchen. Draco quickly gripped Harry’s wrist to prevent the Auror from attacking. A slender woman dressed in casual clothes entered the living room. Blonde, with delicate features and a kind face, she didn’t fit at all with Harry’s conception of what any friend of Malfoy should look like.

“Tory. What are you doing here? It’s not safe.” Draco admonished even as he embraced her. Harry averted his eyes, feeling inexplicably uncomfortable by this show of affection coming from Draco. Even his usual haughty tone had mellowed to something almost sweet. 

“Well, you left in quite a hurry, I wasn’t sure what to do. Are you alright?”

“Yes.” Astoria tilted her head and arched a brow, seeming amused. Draco actually _laughed_ , to Harry’s complete perplexity. “I’ll explain later, I promise. You should go to your parents’ house.”

“My parents?” she repeated, appearing surprised. “This is serious, then.” Draco raised one shoulder in a helpless gesture.

“Malfoy.” Harry interrupted, and blushed when two almost identical sets of grey eyes turned to him.

“Right,” Draco said. “Tory, you have to go. Don’t come back here until I say it’s safe, okay?”

“Alright darling, but I expect a very thorough explanation,” Astoria said, picking up a purse Harry just now noticed was hanging in a hook next to the door, and kissing Draco on the cheek. “Very thorough.” She stressed. And with a polite nod to Harry and soft pop, she was gone.

“Er…” Harry shuffled next to the door, not sure about what to say. Draco rolled his eyes at him and continued packing.

“Her name is Astoria Greengrass. I don’t want her involved in this mess.”

“Right.” Harry swayed between his toes and his heels, hands deep in his pockets. “Is she your-”

“Where is that blasted dog?” Draco interrupted, closing and shrinking his trunk. He took a few steps towards the hallway, squinting in the direction of the backyard. “Usually, I can’t take one step without tripping over him, but _today_ …” he continued to grumble, checking the kitchen, and then coming back to the living room. “Potter!” Draco bellowed, making Harry jump and bang his elbow on a wall.

“What the fuck Malfoy, I’m right here!” Harry protested, rubbing the sore spot.

“Not _you_ , I mean Potter,” said Draco distractedly, still looking around. “Potter, now!”

“I am Potter!” Harry yelled angrily. “Did you go completely mental?!”

A rushing sound of nails scratching wood floors was heard, and suddenly a huge dog was jumping on Malfoy, yapping cheerfully and slobbering over everything.

“ _There_ you are,” said Malfoy, giving the dog an exasperated grin. “Stupid mongrel, I should have left you to fend for yourself this morning.” he scratched the dog’s ears and turned towards a thunderstruck Harry “I’m ready.”

“You…” Harry pointed at Draco with a shaking finger, and then at the dog looking at him with his tongue lolling out. “You named your _dog_ after _me_?”

“Yes,” Draco replied simply.

“You named your dog after me!” Harry exploded, this time red with fury. “Bloody hell Malfoy, what is _wrong_ with you?”

“Well, what do you call a thing with black fur that will not stay untangled no matter what you do,” 

“I do not have _fur_!” Harry cried out.

“That eats like a savage, shows no regard for rules, proper etiquette, or antiques, really,” Draco continued evenly, completely ignoring Harry’s outburst. “And most of all, _refuses to die_?” 

Harry spluttered powerlessly, incapable to choose which part of Draco’s statement he wanted to protest first. Draco’s eyes merrily twinkling away with malice also weren’t helping Harry regain his cool.

“I hate you,” he informed Draco at last. And with a pointed scowl to the dog, apparated the lot of them to Grimmauld Place.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter three.

Draco Malfoy was the human equivalent of chaos, Harry concluded within five minutes of their arrival home. Five minutes was all the time it took for Harry’s attempt to show Draco around Grimmauld Place derail into Draco running in and out of various rooms and stopping in front of Harry, frankly distressed, asking things like:

“What did you do with the rug that Uncle Pollux brought from France?”, and:

“ _Potter_ , why is the Purple Parlour painted green? Are you a complete barbarian?”

Kreacher was absolutely no help. One look at Draco and he started wailing quite piteously that ‘Master didn’t warn we are having visitors!’. Which in turn made the dog take great interest in the old elf. The animal was taller than Kreacher, even on all fours, and seemed immediately determined to stick his snout into Kreacher’s face. Harry figured it was a ‘further investigation purposes’ kind of thing, and that Kreacher should be glad the dog wasn’t sniffing his behind. The elf ran, screeching. The dog chased him, barking joyfully. Draco yelled at him to behave, being successful only in setting off Walburga’s portrait. _‘Blood traitors and filthy beasts!’_ joined the commotion and Harry helplessly tugged at his hair, wondering how a man was supposed to deal with this when he hadn’t even had his first cup of tea.

He left them to their lunacy and went downstairs to procure himself some Earl Grey. Twenty minutes later, Draco strode in. He had seemingly gotten over Harry’s rearrangement of the house. His hair was wet, turned into a slightly more subdued colour than the usual shock of blond, and he had changed into perfectly pressed black trousers, a white dress shirt, and a waistcoat. Harry rolled his eyes. His own typical clothes for staying in were in fact just pants, but of course, Draco would be as pretentious as hell. 

“Tea?” he offered, pushing the pot in Draco’s direction. 

“Thank you,” said Draco, helping himself and settling beside one of the counters with a contented sigh. “No dogs in the kitchen,” he added firmly, and Harry turned around in time to see dog-Potter halt and sit down next to the kitchen’s entrance. 

“I have to go back to the ministry. You’re all set?” Draco hummed and nodded.

“I took the chambers across your room,” he said, and Harry paused for a second at the use of the plural term before deciding maybe it was best he didn’t know. 

“Okay, sure. I’ll see you later,” he took one last look at Draco, who was now glancing around the kitchen and frowning slightly, and bolted before the madness commenced again. 

He came back at the end of the day to alarming noises coming from the kitchen. The dog was napping in the hallway, almost completely camouflaged in the dim light. He thumped his tail on the floor in silent greeting and closed his eyes again, not even stirring when a loud crash came from behind the door. With all the weariness he would normally save for entering a vicious ringleader hide-out, Harry poked his head around the door to evaluate the situation.

Draco was standing in the middle of the room, sleeves rolled up, charming pans and ingredients into… something. Kreacher was running in circles around him, crying that he could help. Harry must have made some sort of noise because Draco suddenly raised his eyes to him.

“Dinner in thirty minutes,” he said.

“Erm… I usually just get take-out.” Harry admitted, scratching the back of his neck. Draco scoffed at him.

“Don’t be absurd.” 

Unsure of how to react to this, Harry mumbled something unintelligible and retreated. 

“I need to shower,” Harry said brusquely to no one in particular when the kitchen door was once again closed, and stomped to his room. 

He eventually came back downstairs, miffed about his urge to hide inside the bedroom for the rest of the evening. He found Draco calmly sipping wine in the dining room. The table was already set, a nice spread of food on top of it, and Harry had to admit that whatever it was Draco had prepared certainly smelled good. 

“We’re eating here?” he asked, rather dumbly, and received an impatient glance from Draco for his efforts. 

“As the stables were occupied, _yes_ Potter, we’re having _dinner_ at the _dining room_.”

“Git,” Harry grumbled, but took a sit, nonetheless. A brooding Kreacher appeared next to Harry’s right elbow, pouring him a glass of wine too.

“Kreacher will be preparing the masters’ breakfast tomorrow morning at 7.” The elf stated, rather peevishly, if Harry could say so.

“Kreacher-” 

“Master Harry will not be putting the House of Black in scandal when we are having guests.” Kreacher continued determinedly, throwing Harry a dirty look before disappearing. Harry gaped after the elf’s back and then snuck a look at Draco. The man was in the process of hiding a smirk behind his glass.

“What did you do?” he asked, and Draco rolled his eyes.

“I did not break any of your rules, Potter. Your elf wants to do his job, that’s all.” Harry took off his glasses and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“He should be slowing down, not taking up more obligations,” Harry muttered from behind his hands. 

“Has it ever occurred to you that having time off is more distressing to him than running the house?” Harry opened his mouth to protest and Draco cut him off:

“You appear to have a rule of no cooking here, from what I gather, correct? Regardless, how many times do you find food lying around when you’re hungry?”

Harry grunted, putting his glasses back and mulling over the subject. He did find small tins of cookies inside his robe’s pockets, and sometimes sandwiches were waiting for him at his office when he got back from a raid. He just always assumed Ron or Hermione had bought extras or something. Come to think of it, Harry recurrently found ‘left over’ food inside his fridge that he had no recollection of ever buying. Draco was staring at him smugly when Harry’s eyes went back to him.

“If he wasn’t always sneaking around trying to feed you, Potter, maybe he would have enough time to _rest_.”

“Fine,” Harry said tiredly, starting to put food on his plate. He was about to tuck in when he noticed Draco watching. The ‘eating like a savage’ remark from earlier made his ears burn, and Harry glowered but forced himself to eat very slowly. Draco snorted, amused, but refrained from commenting. They finished the meal in almost companionable silence.

“I’ve been thinking about the case,” Harry said eventually. Draco just raised an eyebrow in question, delicately wiping his mouth before taking another sip of his drink. “Made a list of who could have held a grudge against me two years ago.”

“Oh?”

“It’s a short list.” Harry exhaled, frustrated, playing with a loose thread on the tablecloth. “Most of the Death Eaters had been caught and imprisoned by then. I wasn’t working on any big cases that I can think of. Nobody I arrested had been released. I don’t know.” 

“What about the families of all those people?” Harry nodded grimly:

“Yeah, I’m looking into it. But it doesn’t seem likely I’ll find anything. It’s been too long. Hermione was right, I should have investigated this properly when it happened.”

Harry snuck another peek at Draco. The soft light coming from the chandelier above their heads was playing with his hair and eyes, making him seem almost otherworldly. He had grown into his features, Harry realised. His pointy face had transformed into a sharp bone structure that looked rather nice, and he held himself with a casual elegance Harry had no hope of ever emulating. Harry shifted uncomfortably on his sit, frowning at his line of thought.

“Well, we all knew your investigative skills would be sloppy at best, Potter.” Draco drawled, and Harry broke out of his reverie. _‘And then he opens his mouth.’_ , Harry said to himself, irritated, and pushed to his feet.

“Piss off, Malfoy. I don’t see your report enlightening us all over why magic doesn’t work on this bloke properly.” he spat. Draco’s head snapped up, and if Harry didn’t know any better, he would swear Draco looked confused at Harry’s show of hostility. But almost instantly Malfoy’s face shuttered down, and his usual sneer was back in place. 

“Of course, Potter, how remiss of me. I’ll research with all the possible haste, _oh Saviour_.” He was standing up too and making his way to the door.

“Don’t call me that,” Harry growled, but all he got as an answer was a disdainful look Draco sent from over his shoulder.

Harry went to sleep angry. He punched his pillows, trying to get comfortable, and kicked his blankets off. He glared in the direction of Draco’s room across the hallway. The whole house had been covered in an unnatural hush after dinner. Still upset, Harry closed his eyes. As it turned out, he was in for a long, restless night full of disturbing dreams of white-blond hair, dark marks, and quiet forests.

***

Morning light found them both sullen and subdued. Kreacher had indeed prepared an over-the-top breakfast and called both men down to eat at seven on the dot. Draco, for all his high levels of activity at the break of dawn the day before, seemed to be decidedly not a morning person. He dragged himself down, still wrapped in a robe, and stared listlessly at the empty plate before him. 

Harry couldn’t help but keep glancing at his taciturn guest while filling his own plate, getting more and more frustrated at both the silence and Draco’s apathy. 

“I’ll check if you have any new cases today and bring them back to you,” Harry said, at last, unable to bear another second of the stiff mood between them. Draco half turned towards him, staring at Harry as if he had no recollection of ever meeting him before.

“That would be fine, thank you,” Draco replied in a distant tone, before going back to gazing at nothing. Harry sighed to himself, appetite lost. The fight from yesterday, if that was even what that was, seemed to have destroyed any tentative truce they had reached. Harry held his hot cup of tea for a moment, trying to think things through. All accounts from other co-workers in the DML, grudgingly or not, stated that Draco had good work ethics and wasn’t half as insufferable as he used to be. So why couldn’t they just get along? Harry sighed again, feeling guilty and not knowing why that was. He went to work hungry and bad-tempered.

***

Draco bloody Malfoy worked far too many cases. Harry stumbled out of the floo, grumbling to himself. He was carrying at least five different packages. Packages that he could not shrink, according to the horrified secretary back at the Office for the Removal of Curses, Jinxes, and Hexes. He cussed when one of them fell to the floor. Again.

The dog came to greet him while Harry made his way up the stairs to 'Draco's rooms’. Harry sent the animal an annoyed glance. 

“The least you could do is help me with these things. You’re a Potter too, you know.” dog-Potter’s only answer was a consoling bump to Harry’s leg. 

“Malfoy, I have your-”

“Shh.” Draco waved a hand at him, eyes focused on something on the wall. Harry dropped the parcels to the floor – on purpose this time – and followed his gaze. Draco was twirling his wand, forehead slightly furrowed, staring at a clock.

“What’s this?” he asked when no explanation seemed forthcoming. A little bird came out of the clock and made an obnoxiously loud chirp.

“Cursed clock.” Harry tilted his head, watching the bird disappear and then come out again.

“What does it do?”

“I’m fairly certain it will make our ears explode when it gets to twelve counts.” Harry made a protesting noise at this nonchalant answer.

“And how many counts did it do so far?”

“Ten.”

“Malfoy, sodding hell, what the-”

“Oh relax, Potter,” Draco said with an eye-roll. He flicked his wand at the clock, and the bird froze where it was. Harry sagged to the nearest armchair, running his fingers through his hair.

“You should come with a health hazard warning,” Harry stated. Draco just smirked. “I brought your new cases.”

“Excellent,” Draco said and turned to the pile on the floor. He arched an eyebrow. “I see your organization skills didn’t improve much with age.”

“You mean: ‘Thank you so much, Harry, for juggling this bullshit around like a circus monkey.’” Harry said, scowling. Draco gave a startled laugh and Harry caught a glimpse of a real smile on his face for a surprising second. Harry felt the tight ball of unease on his chest slowly unravel.

While Draco busied himself stacking his parcels on the top of a long desk, Harry leaned back on his seat and took in the differences in the room for the first time. The whole… office, Harry supposed, was decorated in soothing tones of cream and blue. Harry was pretty sure this particular room had been painted a mildly traumatizing shade of yellow by Luna a few years back. Something about combating a creature that caused depression. 

But that wasn’t all. The room was bigger, lighter. Full of furniture he hadn’t known he owned. One wall was completely covered with books Harry had never seen before, and all sorts of trinkets and moving what-nots were sitting on top of various tables. Magic saturated the air, at some places twinged with dark hues that somehow didn’t frighten. It was almost comforting, Harry realized. Like greeting old friends. 

“Is this room… er…?” Harry asked, bewildered, noticing a wide window that had been decidedly _not_ there last he had checked.

“Hm. Black descendent. The house is being very accommodating.”

“ _Excuse me_?”

“It was just some adjustments, Potter, no need to get offended. I’m sure the house likes you too.”

“I spent three months redecorating this place!” Harry exclaimed, indignant, and received a mocking look for his troubles.

“Well then. Maybe it resented a buffoon painting its walls the most distressing colours.”

“Yellow.” Harry offered, starting to grin. Draco sent him a scandalized look.

“That was _not_ yellow.” 

Harry huffed, but his grin widened. 

“So how come your secretary seemed ready to faint when I wanted to shrink all your stuff? You shrank that clock yesterday.” 

“Nobody shrinks cursed objects, you simpleton. They might eat you out of spite. Astoria sent the clock by owl this morning.”

“Oh. Right.” Harry said, feeling his amusement fade. He had – very productively – spent his working hours combing through all the Prophet’s mentions of the Malfoys in the last years. Ron had taken one look at him bent over dusty issues in the Ministry’s archive and bailed, muttering to himself something that sounded a lot like _‘sixth year’_. Harry’s search had unearthed an article from around a year ago announcing Draco Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass were engaged. 

“ _What_?” Harry raised his eyes to find Draco, hands on his waist and knit in the brow, glaring at him. His t’s got more pronounced when he was ticked off, a distantly entertained part of Harry noticed. 

“What, what?”

“This ‘right’ of yours. I asked if I could give her your address, and you said I could. So what is it now?”

“Nothing!” Harry exclaimed, putting his hands up. “Nothing, honest. Yes, she can send you whatever you like, it’s… fine.” He finished the sentence with a wince. Draco studied him, shoulders very straight and tense. The easy mood they’d been sharing vanished.

“I’ll go wash up,” Harry said, feeling rather defeated. Draco was nowhere to be seen when Harry went down to have dinner. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments make my day =)


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter four.

He wasn’t there in the morning either, which caused Harry to get so annoyed he gave up on the meal entirely and went to the Ministry particularly bad-tempered. He proceeded to snap at every co-worker unlucky enough to cross his path and was finally sent out to do surveillance on an illegal potions case by an exasperated Ron. Of course, the moment Harry found a good spot on an alley and put up some notice-me-not charms, the fine weather they had been enjoying that October decided to take a turn to the worse. Harry went home early, cold, and miserable, and not at all cheered by the thought of having to face Draco again.

The house was quiet when he slipped inside and closed the front door. Harry decided he’d earned the right to a proper bath today, instead of his usual quick showers. Mildly appeased by the prospect of regaining feeling in his toes, he took the stairs two at a time and barged into the bathroom next to his bedroom. 

A shocked Draco was on the other side of the door, stark naked and frozen in the act of drying his hair with a towel. None of them moved for a few stunned seconds. Harry could feel his mouth opening and closing silently. _Shite_. And then, completely against his better judgment, his eyes, which were staring into Draco’s wide ones, started following droplets of water that were sliding down his face, his lips, down his neck, chest – what do you know, he wasn’t lying about the scars – abs and…

“Potter!” Draco finally roared in indignation, snapping Harry out of his daze. Very aware he was rapidly blushing, Harry staggered back.

“Right. I’m… I mean…”

“Do you _mind_?” 

“S-sorry, I’ll…” Harry fumbled for words, so completely flustered he couldn’t actually follow the advice the last sane part of his brain was screaming at him: _get the fuck out of this situation!_

Draco, who apparently had a firmer grasp of his senses than Harry did at that moment, tied the towel around his hips. Harry’s eyes followed helplessly back to the spot. Godric help him, he had just seen Draco’s-

“Potter!” 

Harry took another automatic step back, just in time for dog-Potter – who was running towards his master with surprising speed – to smack into him and use the momentum to jump on top of a newly horror-struck Malfoy.

“Bloody-,” was all he managed before slipping and ending up flat on his back on the wet floor. Harry slapped a hand to his mouth, unsure if he should go help or give himself up to hysterical sniggers. 

“This fucking dog!” Draco hollered, madly kicking his feet in order to sit up. And then, shoving the animal, who was licking his face:

“Get off me, Potter!” The dog sat down, untroubled by Draco’s fury, and waved his tail rapidly, seeming incredibly pleased with himself. “Just you wait, I’ll live to go to your funeral, you’ll see!”

Harry let out a muffled sound, and laughter prevailed over common courtesy. He doubled over, leaning against the hallway wall when it looked like his legs wouldn’t support him for much longer. He tried to control his breathing, but then met Draco’s narrowed eyes and fuming expression, and that set him off again.

“This is not funny, Pot- _Harry_!”

“I- I… Oh, Merlin.” Harry said between gasps. “This dog is…You have to call me- _Harry_!”

“Shut up Potter! Fucking hell, _Harry_! I could be hurt! Do you know how rude it is to…” the lecture lasted a good five minutes, which was just as well because Harry took about as long to get a hold of himself. In the end, he managed to stand up straight again and take in Draco’s appearance. The man was wearing a thoroughly disgruntled look that reminded Harry of Teddy’s face when bedtime arrived. He extended a hand to a weary Draco.

“Come on,” he said, smiling slightly, “I won’t tell anyone.”

Those were the magic words, as it turned out. Draco was still a bit grumpy, but stopped promising death to all the Potters in his life, got dressed, and accepted a steaming mug of tea when they went downstairs.

They ended up ransacking Grimmauld’s library for any books that looked promising to the case and reading them sprawled on the living room's armchairs, a roaring fire making the whole space pleasantly toasty. After his second piece of chocolate cake, Draco’s mood improved drastically, and Harry made a note to himself to always have sugar on hand. 

They didn’t find anything useful, but the room was warm and they gradually relaxed, Draco feeding his dog a piece of cake every now and then.

“Isn’t chocolate supposed to kill dogs?” Harry asked after a while, turning a page from a huge tome, which was half written in Latin and depicted some rather violent drawings about curse mechanisms on the human body.

“Hm.” Draco tilted his head, sending dog-Potter a malevolent look. “I wish. Last year this bloody mongrel ate my whole birthday cake. Triple chocolate, and ordered from Paris. He didn’t even get sick.” 

Harry snorted.

“That’s why you named him Potter? Because he’s immune to usual dog poison?”

“No. I named him Potter after a disastrous afternoon where he chewed on Pansy’s designer shoes, successfully dodged all of her hexes, jumped out the window from the second floor of the Manor, fell on my mother’s rose bushes and was then chased by peacocks.”

Harry looked at Draco, torn between laughter and disbelief. Draco rolled his eyes.

“Not even a scratch. Seemed like the kind of nonsense you would pull every year.” he continued, distractedly rubbing behind the dog’s ears. Then he smirked. “Of course, yelling: ‘Potter, stop shitting on the neighbour’s garden!’, entertains me to no end.”

“Idiot,” Harry said but found himself smiling.

They spent a couple more hours discussing theories back and forth, Harry getting more and more sleepy. Draco manhandled him up the stairs at some point, scolding Harry about his ridiculous notion that it was appropriate to fall asleep on one’s living room floor. 

When he actually found himself alone in his bed though, sleep abruptly disappeared. Harry stared at the ceiling, the image of Draco wet and completely naked intruding insistently on his thoughts. He looked… Harry sighed and ignored the little thrill going down his spine. He was fit, Harry supposed. Nothing wrong with admitting that. And if he was feeling weird… well. He probably just needed a shag, Harry reasoned with himself. That was all. 

***

Over the next few days, after what Harry had taken to calling the Naked Draco incident, (to himself, anyway), a truce of sorts was at last brokered between the two of them. Gradually, and sometimes a bit uncertainly, they started to seek each other out around the house. Draco would drop by Harry’s study and disparage over Harry’s taste in music (Harry was going through a Nirvana phase). Harry, never one to have a structured anything in his life before, much less a schedule, found to his surprise that he would wander into Draco’s office around dinner time unfailingly, and pester him until the man dropped whatever project he was working on and joined Harry downstairs. Draco actually liked to cook, much to Kreacher’s despair, and extensive negotiations had taken place until it was officially agreed that Kreacher would be responsible for breakfast and snacks, but dinner was Draco’s rightful meal.

After dinner, Harry and Draco would sit down on whatever room seemed the warmest that night, and slowly go through books and case files – Hermione had suggested they looked for precedents on the Auror’s archive. They fell into a bizarre routine, which was mostly based on tetchy comments with no real bite, lots of tea, and no progress on the case.

Harry discovered that if he came into Draco’s room early in the morning and bribed him with a cup of tea full of milk and sugar, he would get up and agree to join Harry for breakfast. He would follow sleepily in his pyjamas, body warm and pliant as Harry manoeuvred him into the dining room.

He couldn’t really talk until his second cup, and Harry came to understand that the tense moments those first few mornings were more about Draco’s incapability of making sense before ten o’clock, and less about any lingering resentments.

“I remember you being awake and already behaving like a pillock during breakfast back at Hogwarts,” Harry commented, after watching Draco try and fail to dunk a biscuit in his teacup.

“Blaise would wake me up two hours earlier and make me take a cold shower every morning. Father’s orders.” Draco said, giving up on the biscuit and pillowing his head between his arms. The rules of pureblood etiquette while on the table, Harry noted, didn’t apply for mornings. Draco lifted a finger and shook it vaguely in Harry’s direction:

“Don’t even think about it. I’ll hex your…,” a muffled yawn, “...bollocks off.”

“Could you even find your wand if you wanted to hex me?” Draco made a rude gesture in response.

Draco at five o’clock in the afternoon, on the other hand, was an unpredictable source of mayhem. Harry had come home one day to a cauldron flooding Draco’s office with weird bubbles that turned into a slippery black paste when popped. The dog was madly trying to catch them but succeeded only in skidding from one side of the room to the other, crashing into the furniture, while Draco shouted at him to _hold still, you fucking menace._

“Aren’t you supposed to keep this stuff from happening?” Harry yelled over him, franticly sending vanishing spells in all directions.

“Well, it was supposed to spill lava, so count your goddamned blessings, Potter! Potter, _no_ , I meant _Harry_!”

Another time, he hadn’t even managed to take his auror’s robes off before Kreacher grabbed his hands and dragged him off, sobbing: ‘Master needs to save the other Master! He is falling to his death, he is!’

The elf’s distress turned out to be about Draco, who was perched on top of the ballroom’s chandelier, swinging back and forth while twisting his wand in complicated patterns.

“Draco!” he’d exclaimed, shocked. “What the bloody fuck are you doing?”

“Oh, Harry!” Draco peered at him from his place and actually grinned. “Did you know this chandelier is cursed to spit candles on people passing by?”

“ _Yes_!” The chandelier was in fact a popular drinking game for the Gryffindors, who would try to dash from one end of the room to another without getting hit. “Get down from there!”

“It’s remarkable magic!” Draco sounded delighted, eyes shining bright and his hair sticking in all directions. That particular night ended with Harry atop his broom, shouting himself hoarse, and Ron laughing so much he got the hiccups. The chandelier was modified to spiting a harmless foamy material, which forever ingratiated Draco to Hermione.

“We didn’t fight in a war just so you stupid boys could die from a candle attack,” she’d said firmly.

On the other hand, as the weather progressively got worse and rain started to be a permanent fixture to all days, Draco made an accurate correlation between the depths of Harry’s bad temper and just how wet and cold he was upon arriving from work.

Harry denied this vehemently. He’d lived in a forest under the elements for _months_. Cold had no effect on him. However, finding a hot cup of tea innocently waiting for him in the entrance hall was quickly becoming his favourite part of the day. Draco boasted about this. Harry declared the tea was only effective in bracing him against whatever madness he would find at Draco’s office. Draco told him to go fuck himself, but there was a biscuit next to the tea the following day.

“You know, I think he is alright,” Harry said on Friday, munching on a sandwich. He, Ron, and Hermione were having a late lunch in his office. “Weird, but alright.”

“All the more reason to fix this.” Hermione gave a frustrated sigh and closed the book she’d been studying. She nicked some chips from Ron’s plate. “We have nothing. He can’t live with you forever.”

“He seems ok.”

“Yeah, but it’s been a week, Harry. He has to be missing his friends. His life. That Astoria bird. We need to step up.” Ron reasoned with his mouth full, and then quickly dodged a smack from Hermione, who was hissing ‘ _manners’_ in his direction.

Harry felt his shoulders sag. Draco rarely mentioned Astoria, but he knew they exchanged letters every day. Of course, he must miss her. He put the rest of his sandwich aside.

“Weekend study group?” he suggested. Ron winced but nodded. Hermione was looking at him with a speculative expression.

“What?” Harry asked, uneasy, but she just shook her head.

“Weekend study group.”

***

Harry told him about their plans later that night when they were in the kitchen. Harry was sitting by the table sipping butterbeer while Draco supervised a bunch of knives cutting vegetables. Harry could offer to help, but he was well aware that he would just get in the way. He knew a little about cooking from his years with the Dursleys, but Draco had a very wizarding approach to the whole thing, spells zapping everywhere, and Harry couldn’t be bothered to learn how to do things his way.

“Hermione is right,” said Draco, lighting another fire on the stove, for reason’s unknown to Harry. 

“It was my idea!” protested Harry, scowling. “I do have some good ones, you know.”

“Wonders will never cease.” drawled Draco. Harry crossed his arms and muttered some expletives under his breath.

“Anyway,” Draco continued, “Astoria is sending a few books tomorrow. It will be good to go over them together. That is to say, it will be good for me and Hermione to go over them. You and Ronald can make tea and mind the baby.”

Harry spluttered and was about to go into a tirade that he had the highest case clearance rates in the Auror’s department, _fuck you very much_ when he noticed the grin Draco was trying to hide.

“Poncy bastard.” Harry sighed, deflating.

“Not my fault you’re so easy to rile up. Although I am an expert, of course.”

“Not sure you should be bragging about being insufferable,” said Harry, starting to pick on a napkin close to him. Then, trying very hard to sound casual:

“How is she, anyway? Astoria.”

Draco paused for a second to glance at him. Astoria was clearly a sore topic, and Harry didn’t even know why.

“She’s fine, if a little annoyed with me,” Draco said, turning his back at Harry to go fuss over some dish or other. “She thinks I’m exaggerating and that she could go home.”

“Maybe she’s right, you know. This bloke doesn’t seem to be targeting anyone but you.”

“Not worth the risk.” Draco shrugged.

“Still, she must miss your house.” Draco turned back around to stare at Harry, eyebrows rising.

“ _My_ house? Why the devil would she miss it?”

“Er… your house. I mean, the both of you.” Harry stammered, growing uncertain the more incredulous Draco looked. “Because you live together. Because you’re getting married… Right?”

“Good Salazar, no! Astoria has her own lands. They’re close to the Manor, actually.”

“But- But you’re engaged.”

“So?”

“ _So_! People usually live-” Harry rubbed the back of his neck, a bit stumped for words. “I mean, _I_ used to live…”

“Merlin save me from sappy Gryffindors.” Draco scoffed and rolled his eyes before going back to cooking.

“But she was there that morning!”

“ _Yes_ , because she came looking for me after I barraged into her room at fuck o’clock in the morning to leave Potter with her.”

“Oh,” said Harry, a bit stupidly. 

That particular conversation made Harry pleased, for reasons he couldn’t begin to fathom. He went to sleep in a good mood, belly full of delicious food, and feeling optimistic about their Saturday plans.

***

Harry was back at the Forbidden Forest. The wood’s floor was covered in chilly mist, and his surroundings were so quiet, Harry could hear his own heartbeat. He sighed, shoulders slumping. He was back on one of those dreams. 

Immediately after the war, he would wake up from one of those – and plenty others – screaming and shaking uncontrollably. But as the years went by, the dreams started to change. There wouldn’t be people dying around him, no sluggish legs that refused to allow him to run and save his loved ones. No terror, no hurt. Just a stroll around the places where Harry had lost something. Deserted sets from a terrible play. Harry learned to just go with these dreams.

Harry started walking down the path that would ultimately lead him to the place he’d died. He reached the clearing, the mist slowly dissolving all around him. To his surprise, there was someone waiting for him there. At first, he thought it was Sirius Animagus’ form, and smiled, even with his heart aching, thinking that it would be good to at least see his godfather for a bit.

But as he got closer, he saw it wasn’t Sirius at all. This dog was much bigger, with fur cropped closely to his skin. It was lying on the exact spot Harry had fallen and opened yellow eyes that glowed eerily when Harry sat by his side. They faced each other for a while, and Harry took in the way the dog almost shimmered in the dark forest as if it weren’t entirely there. 

“The Grim, eh?” Harry said, chuckling humourlessly. “Appropriate.”

They sat side by side, not interacting, and after a couple of minutes, Harry noticed that he was rapidly bleeding into the forest’s ground. He checked himself for wounds, distantly curious, but found nothing out of place. Nothing hurt. His blood was just leaving his body out of its own volition. 

“Well, that’s new.”

 _“Harry!”_ a frantic voice, vaguely familiar, boomed through the forest, coming from everywhere and nowhere. Harry frowned at his surroundings, still feeling calm and detached from the whole thing. The Grim stood up, towering over Harry, who continued to just sit still and bleed. 

_“Harry! Harry James Potter!”_

“Do you know who that is?” Harry asked, tilting his head to the side when the Grim started growling.

_“HARRY WAKE UP!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello =D  
> So, before anyone complains about the dogs and chocolate bit, let me tell you that dog-Potter is based on a real life delinquent canine. Who did in fact eat a whole chocolate cake in the dead of night. We only found out about his crimes in the morning. He didn't even get sick.  
> Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter five. 

Harry woke slowly, aware someone was shaking him, but not being quite successful in opening his eyes. He groaned, feeling sore and weak as if he’d suffered some terrible accident. His whole body was shaking and covered in a cold sweat. He could feel his heart beating at a frantic, unnatural pace.

“Harry?” a panicked voice whispered, and there were hands on his face, pushing his hair back, rubbing his temples. “Can you hear me?”

“Yes,” he breathed out, and finally managed to open his eyes. The room was lit by dim light, and Draco’s face was hovering over his. He was biting his lips and frowning. Harry hadn’t seen this expression on his face since his Voldemort visions during the war. It was heart-breaking. Somewhere out of his sight, the dog was whining piteously.

“M’fine.” He mumbled, struggling to sit up. His vision swam and nausea suddenly gripped him. Draco hurried to help him, hissing at him to wait. “Just a dream,” he said after a brief pause where Draco conjured an alarming amount of pillows for Harry to lean against.

“No, it wasn’t,” said Draco, voice strangled, and grabbed hold of one of Harry’s arms.

“ _Look_.”

He did. There was a deep gash, elbow to wrist, on both his forearms. Harry blinked slowly at this. There was no blood, even though the cuts were deep. He could clearly see the layers of his skin, fat, muscle, like some twisted, horrible dessert course. But there was no blood. No pain, even. As Harry watched, disturbed, the wounds began to close on their own, and in a matter of seconds, smooth skin was all there was to see. Smooth, greyish skin, quite a few shades paler than that of the rest of his body. With his free hand, he cautiously poked at the place where one of the cuts had been. The skin there was numb and _cold_. Dead cold. 

“I can’t feel it,” he said and searched for Draco’s eyes, spooked. Draco was staring back at him in stunned silence. His grip on Harry’s arm was so tight it hurt. Harry supposed he should be glad his nerves were still functioning on the rest of his limbs.

“Fuck-” Draco yelped when dog-Potter jumped on the bed, jolting them. The animal was still whining. Before either of them could do anything, Potter licked both of Harry’s forearms.

Harry cried out. All at once warmth and feeling were coming back to his skin, stinging him. The colour was back. Harry gaped. He would have been up and shouting if he didn’t feel so close to passing out.

“What the hell?” he croaked. The dog, deeming his job done, stopped his sad noises and settled down next to Harry, head on his lap.

“Is he- magical?” he asked Draco, who let out a desperate, choked laugh and ran a hand through dishevelled hair.

“Who the hell knows.”

“I dreamed I was bleeding,” said Harry, frowning, sinking further into the pillows as he spoke. He had to acknowledge the fact that he couldn’t really support his own head up, however humiliating that was. He was just so _tired_. “I was in the Forbidden Forest, just…”

Draco’s eyes narrowed. He’d gotten himself under enough control that his face no longer looked panicked-stricken. He was silent for a few minutes, and Harry, body still shaking, started to drift off. Reality seemed far away.

“You need blood-replenishing potions,” Draco said somewhere above him. Harry tried to focus on what he was doing, tried to argue that it had to be just a _dream_ , what else could it be, that he was fine, but… He was out cold.

When he woke up again, life was considerably better. Harry felt warm and comfortable. All that nauseating, lightheaded feeling of near-death had been banished. Some soft cuddly creature – the dog, his mind provided – was pressed to his side. 

“How are you feeling?”

Harry turned his head to find Draco sprawled on an armchair still on his pyjamas, looking sleep-deprived but otherwise unharmed. 

“Good.” He whispered, then frowned at the scratchy sound of his own voice. Draco conjured a glass of water and helped him sit up and drink.

“Shove your infuriating hero complex up your arse for a second,” Draco said, without any real bite. “How are you feeling?”

“Good, honest,” said Harry, laughing a bit. Draco rolled his eyes.

“Fucking Gryffindor.”

“What time is it?”

“A little after four. You were down for a couple of hours.” 

“Fuck. Draco, what happened?”

“I think we should call your dynamic duo for this conversation.”

***

“I’m just saying, you can hear everything perfectly fine from the floo, there’s no need to risk-”

“Harry Potter, you have better not be about to say that it’s too dangerous, and we shouldn’t help,” said a glowering Hermione from the fireplace. 

“Yeah mate, we’ve been having this argument since we were _eleven_ , can’t you give it a rest?” quipped Ron somewhere behind her.

“We’re coming through,” said Hermione firmly, and then did just that.

Harry sighed to himself and scratched distractedly behind Potter’s ears. Draco had adamantly refused to say anything more since he’d woken up and had left to change his clothes once

Harry fire-called his friends. His obstinate, idiotic friends, that were now risking their offspring just to help him. 

“Stop sulking, Ron is just leaving Rosie with his mother and then he is coming too,” said Hermione, sitting next to Harry on the bed and rubbing her arms. “Why is it so cold in here?”

“Great, so now I don’t have to worry about the safety of my goddaughter, just that I’ll leave her without parents,” Harry grumbled. Hermione rolled her eyes and seemed about to say something else when Draco strolled back into the room. 

“Hermione,” he nodded towards her, before taking back his sit in the armchair next to Harry’s bed. “Where’s the ginger one?”

“Here, asshole,” said Ron, coming through in a flare of green. “Fuck Harry, you look like shite.”

“Tactful as ever, I see,” drawled Draco, leaning back on his chair and fixing his cuffs. He looked so put together, no one would ever say the man had spent the night up obsessing over Harry’s vital signs. “Say, are you trying to break a record for the number of cuss words per minute?” 

Ron glowered, but Draco just arched one eyebrow, disdain written on his face. Harry met Hermione’s eyes with amusement.

“Boys,” she scolded, fighting down a smile. “Focus.”

“Yes. Draco, get on with it.” 

Draco pursed his lips in an unhappy line but acquiesced.

“Very well. Potter woke me up,” Draco said, voice low. “He was going crazy, barking, scratching the door-”

“Why would Harry- ah, you mean your dog. This is too confusing, can’t we call him something else? Ow!” Ron sent Hermione a disgruntled look over being pinched into silence.

“- We went outside,” continued Draco, “and he came straight to your door. Then…the house went crazy too. Lights going on and off. The walls were shaking. I came into your room, and Kreacher was here.”

“Kreacher?”

“He was hysterical, babbling something about the house being under attack, and that its master was dying.”

Draco made a helpless gesture with his shoulders, surveying the room with suspicion. Remnants from his disturbed air from earlier could still be glimpsed behind Draco’s aristocratic features, and Harry felt his heart give a pang. Both Ron and Hermione were regarding Draco with horrified expressions. 

“I’d never seen anything like that. Harry, it really looked like you were dying.” Harry jumped a bit when Draco’s fingers touched his arm, stroking him. Draco didn’t seem to be conscious of his actions, eyes distant and forehead wrinkled in thought. Harry sent a surreptitious glance at his friends, to check if they were aware of this new development, but they were paying him no mind. Well.

“There was this _thing_ , this chilly air all around you. You were shivering, and getting paler and paler. I couldn’t get you to wake up. I told Kreacher to go reinforce the wards.” 

It was a soothing motion, really. Bizarre, but soothing. It should be uncomfortable. All their physical interaction up until now had involved fistfights, near-death situations, and stumbling around half asleep. There’d been none of this skin-to-skin contact. Ever. Though Harry supposed the whole evening’s debacle could in fact be considered life-threatening, even if not immediately so. 

“Then there were the wounds.”

“What wounds?” interrupted Hermione.

“I had these slashes in my arms when I woke up. Weird, non-bleeding slashes. They closed on their own,” said Harry, still staring, hypnotized, as Draco’s fingers went up and down his forearm. The action had no business feeling this nice. Was Harry that touch-starved? When this was over, he told himself firmly, he would take Hermione to the side and tell her he agreed to be set up after all. 

“I’m not so sure about the non-bleeding part,” said Draco, finally moving away. Harry was left feeling distinctly deprived and grimaced.

“What do you mean?”

“You woke up showing signs of blood loss. And you said you were dreaming of bleeding in the Forbidden Forest earlier.”

“Um…” said Harry, when three pairs of eyes focused on him. He straightened himself further up against the pillows “Yes, well, there was blood, but I couldn’t find any wounds. It was just a stupid nightmare. I was sitting next to the Grim, just… there.” 

“The Grim?” Ron asked, his complexion, already pale from the conversation, taking a slightly green turn. Hermione huffed.

“Not this Divination nonsense again, Ronald. But Harry, I don’t think that was a nightmare either.”

Harry looked at his own hands, annoyed. Figures. Why was he always the one with the strange visions?

“What then?” he asked, and searched Draco’s eyes for an explanation. Those bright grey eyes slowly perused his face, and Harry couldn’t help but feel a bit like one of his cursed objects, being irrevocably pulled apart under Draco’s scrutiny. 

“It seems to me somebody was using blood magic to break your wards.”

“To get to you,” Harry concluded. Draco’s chin went up and something Harry couldn't quite place darkened his eyes for a second. He assumed that haughty, cold posture of his and said:

“I think it's best I go. Clearly, this was a bad idea.”

“Go…?”

“Away from your house, Potter,” Draco said in sudden irritation. The dog lifted his head in question but settled back down when he noticed nobody was actually talking to him. “Before I get arrested for spilling more of the Chosen One’s blood.”

“What the fuck, Draco,” said Harry, getting annoyed himself. “This just proves we need to move faster.”

“I’ve had quite enough of your bumbling assistance, I wish to go home and proceed on my own.”

“Well, tough, Malfoy. I’m the primary Auror on your case, and I say you stay.”

“Or what?” asked Draco, sneering at him.

“But Harry,” said Hermione tentatively, interrupting them before the argument escalated. “If the wards aren’t holding-”

“They are!” Harry exclaimed, irritated. “If they weren’t, that fucking lunatic would be barging in here right now.”

“But he attacked you-”

“Oh, so what. He started off by attacking me, what’s to say he didn’t just go back to his original target?”

“Well…” said Ron, a bit dubiously. “You could have a point, but-”

“But if Harry really is the target, then he can’t be the primary-”

“Kreacher!” bellowed Harry, just to go into a fit of coughing. This fucking night, _honestly._ He waved his hands around when Ron and Hermione leaned towards him.

“I’m fine,” he wheezed.

“Master called?” asked Kreacher, Apparating in with a pop.

“Yes. Kreacher, what’s going on with the wards?”

“The wards are protecting the house, Master Harry. They was weak for a while, but then Master Draco saved us.” Kreacher looked at Draco with obvious adoration. “Master Draco is being wise as he is handsome, Master Harry, like a true Black.”

Ron snorted, and Draco glared at a spot on the wall. Harry noticed his ears were a bit red.

“Well. Yes, thanks, Kreacher.” Harry said quickly before the elf decided to break down in song. Kreacher bowed before disappearing. “No breaches then, see.” 

“Be that as it may, I’m not your hostage,” Draco said, and arched a brow when Harry turned to scowl at him.

“If the wards were really in place,” said Hermione, face acquiring that faraway look of when she was working a puzzle, “then this person wouldn’t have been able to get access to Harry in the first place.”

That sent everyone into temporary silence until Draco gasped and slapped his own forehead.

“Of course! I’m such an idiot, it’s the dark magic!”

“Oh!” Hermione exclaimed, brightening up. “You mean Conway’s theory about way lines of dark magic serving as portals all over the world?”

“Exactly.” Draco’s face was lighting up with enthusiasm too. Harry found himself thinking that he should smile more. It would do his reputation as a snob some reprieve. “This room is brimming with dark magic, and-”

“What do you mean, my room is full of dark magic?” asked Harry, a bit indignant. “I hired professionals to clean up Grimmauld place after the war.”

“It’s a bit cold and creepy here, mate,” admitted Ron, shrugging. “More than usual, I mean.”

“What? It’s not _cold_ in here, it’s fine. It’s… home.” Harry finished uncertainly when everyone in the bedroom looked at him like he was dim-witted. “Whatever.” He grumbled, crossing his arms.

“Imbecile,” said Draco, rolling his eyes. He turned back to Hermione and a few seconds later they exited the room, talking excitedly to each other. The dog gave a yip a rushed to follow his master. Ron looked on with bemusement.

“They’re swots, right?” he asked, taking up the vacated space the dog left next to Harry and leaning against the headboard. Harry just shrugged. He had no idea who Conway was, or what a way line might be, for that matter.

“So,” said Ron, after a good five minutes of Harry silently brooding over people thinking his house was dark. “Are you fucking him?”


End file.
